


Serpentine

by neverevesangel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 04:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverevesangel/pseuds/neverevesangel
Summary: On a cold september day, Aziraphale searches for Crowley.





	Serpentine

On Thursday morning, Crowley is nowhere to be found. Aziraphale brews himself some Earl Grey and resolves not to worry too much.

Before noon, caffeine-fueled anxiety overwhelms him. He grabs his coat and hurries outside where the Bentley is huddled against the sidewalk as if it was asleep. This has him hesitate a moment. For the demon to go anywhere and leave his car behind was quite unusual.

_ What have you gotten yourself into now? _

Without Crowley to drive him - and with too many people about to unfold his wings - Aziraphale has no choice but to go on foot. The demon’s apartment is his first destination, but it is as empty as it had been for the last few weeks. Oddly enough this distinct sense of dread he keeps picking up at the place has diminished in the demon’s absence.

He lingers long enough to water the plants, wondering whether perhaps Crowley didn’t  _ want  _ to be found. The notion stings and won’t go away.

Because he cannot think of any other place that the demon might have withdrawn to, he wanders aimlessly through Soho until his legs, apparently with a mind of their own, carry him to St James’s park. Every gleam of red in his periphery startles him and he spins around, expecting shades and a smirk only to face a stranger.

The ducks soon realise that he has no bread to feed them and they waddle off sullenly. A smile pulls at Aziraphale’s lips when he remembers that one time here, long ago when he’d stormed off and Crowley’d been the one to glare.

_ I have lots of other people to fraternise with, angel. _

They are beyond that now, fraternising. He wonders sometimes if God approves, and if She doesn’t, why are they left in peace?

A shapeless sense of warmth brushes over him then, and it is so familiar that he almost misses its touch. “Crowley,” he breathes, certain now that the demon is somewhere close by. He can  _ feel  _ him.

It still takes him a while to track him down. He looks for ginger hair and dark clothing, and marches past the rose hedge three times before he bothers to look around. On a flat round stone, well hidden from the park visitors, he finds him coiled and writhing.

Startled by the noise of Aziraphale half breaking through the bushes, the snake lifts its head and hisses quietly, its forked tongue slipping out to take in the air.

“It’s me,” the angel whispers and carefully extends one hand toward the creature. “You recognise my scent, don’t you?”

There is no reply and he had not expected one but the snake leans forward to brush its nose against the angel’s palm. Aziraphale can feel its brittle skin against his own and realises that it is shedding. It is September and the temperature barely climbs above ten degrees in London these days.

“Why did you leave?” he asks softly. “You must be freezing out here.”

The snake recoils from his touch and slithers away, moving slow and sluggishly. It hisses again, baring its fangs in a thinly veiled threat that fails to impress Aziraphale, because now he is beginning to understand.

“I have known you first as a serpent,” he says and sinks to his knees before the snake, “when we were both still in the Garden and thought we understood the world. We have learned so much since then, haven’t we? Sometimes I wondered why you never went back into your original form. I thought perhaps you simply never did it when I was around.

“But you were ashamed, weren’t you? And you were afraid that it would remind me of your true nature, that I would remember to hate you and everything you stand for.”

There is another hiss at his words and the snake withdraws further into the shadow of the rock, pressing against it and coiling tighter around itself. Aziraphale still reaches out a hand to brush over the creature’s icy scales, not allowing it to break the contact.

“There is no need for shame, my dear. I have always known that you are serpentine at heart.”

He pulls his hand away, but turns it over and offers it to the snake.

“Will you come home with me now?”

**Author's Note:**

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